


Pull of Past

by Ramzes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen, character exploration, not much action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: He doesn’t look mad, Dunk thought. But Rhaegel did look kind. And frail.Two coinciding visits to Summerhall plunge Maekar Targaryen back into his past. Only, this time his part is the opposite one. Because as kind as Rhaegel is, madness does exact a price from everyone around.





	1. Chapter 1

The rain fell in heavy curtains that hid the sun from view, but at least there was no storm indicated. For now. Dunk had quickly learned to trust the weather in the stormlands not one bit – and the weather in the Dornish Marches was even worse. There were at least three kind of storms here – three that they had experienced, at all events, and the boy seemed to know what to expect of any of them before they even started, the way Dunk had known what punches to expect from his mates in Flea Bottom well before the fight had started.

“Oh, there will be a storm all right,” Egg said nonchalantly. “But it won’t start before tonight, if not tomorrow. We have plenty of time to reach Summerhall.”

Right now, Dunk could swear that they would never reach it. They would never reach even a village, let alone a castle. Mainly because the closer they got to his home, the more Egg took care to avoid any towns and hamlets, any major roars. Which was the reason they were now on something that the boy swore was a back road but Dunk had his doubts.

“If you don’t know where we are, you’ll get such a clout in the ear that you’ll fly all the way back to Whitewalls,” he warned.

Just as he expected, Egg laughed. He would have laughed even after immediately receiving this clout in the year, Dunk thought…

“Have no worry, Ser,” the boy said. “I want to go there much more than you. It’s been a long time since I saw my home last.”

Dunk felt some strange hollowness as he often did when people spoke of home. He remembered Flea Bottom but it was not the same. And Pennytree had been Ser Arlan’s home, not his.

He was almost surprised when, after a sharp turn around a village, a ball of light burst before them, golden and pure, and when he was able to finally see its form through the sheets of rain, he realized that this was the place he had started to think he’d never see.

The boy was home.

The dark night and the deluge hid the group that was pouring through the gates of Summerhall so thoroughly that Dunk and his squire only saw it when they almost ran into the midst of it. There was something that looked like a banner, at the forefront, but it drooped, limp and wet, and Dunk could not say what it showed to save his life.

“Here,” Egg said and Dunk followed his lead, pretending to be part of the crowd. As the boy said, this was easier and quicker than having to answer questions and prove identities.

Still not quite sure whom they were following, Dunk went where Egg did and by the way of a few side doors and a small garden reached the inner court at the same time as the newcomers. In fact, the last side door opened very near the steps that Prince Maekar was now descending, looking not one bit happier at the visit than he would have been, had he been forced to show hospitality to Brynden Rivers, the Hand of the King.

“You did not warn me you were coming,” Dunk heard the Prince say because he was close enough to hear what the retinue was not.

The newcomer shrugged. “I was afraid that I might not find you home,” he said casually and while Dunk was trying to grasp what he was saying, Egg laughed.

“My uncle is right,” he said. “He wouldn’t have found my father here at all, had he sent word. My father would have found something important to do – away.”

Dunk acquaintance with Egg made him think that Maekar might be raising a silver brow, although he could not see his face.

“And of course, you couldn’t wait for the season of storms to pass,” he said.

The newcomer did not sound remorseful. “You mean that there is a season that is not of storms?” he asked, sounding very surprised.

Maekar sighed. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ve got a bath drawn for me. You can use it. We need to take these wet clothes off you before you catch chills.”

“With the dragon breath you call bath water, I’ll likely catch fire,” his brother muttered but started climbing the stairs. Dunk saw his hand itching towards his doublet, as if he was itching to take it away. Without breaking stride, Maekar took him by the hand and while it could be taken as a joy to have him near, the moment the two of them went past him, Dunk realized that Maekar was, in fact, supporting his weight, for the newcomer looked strangely pale, his face as ashen as his hair.

Without looking away, Maekar said, “You two, go to Aegon’s chamber. I’ll have bath drawn for you. You can show yourselves to the world when you look presentable.”

Dunk walked with Egg, wondering how Maekar had spotted and recognized them in the darkness. He could have sworn that the man’s eye had not fallen on them for a moment.

* * *

Aegon looked just the way Dunk had expected to see him when he had first realized who he was, at Ashford – up to the Targaryen dragon emblazoned at his attire. But his bald head, gleaming in the torchlight, showed the young knight that this was still his companion from the rough roads they had trodden, the owner of a hat identical with the one of a mule.

“Where are you going?” the boy asked when Dunk veered away; before the hedge knight could reply, he tugged him towards the high table despite Dunk’s protestations and vows of vengeance and cut off ears.

Prince Daeron grinned at their coming near. He had already visited them as they bathed but vigorous scrubbing and long conversations could not take place at the same time, obviously, so they had only exchanged a few words. Still, Dunk felt as if he were meeting a friend, the same way he had felt in Aemon’s company in Oldtown. The two little girls fidgeting in their seats, eager to see them, drew his eye with the surprise of the fact that they were black-haired. Somehow, he had expected that Egg’s siblings would look like him and this far, they had delivered – save for brown-haired Daeron, of course. On the way to Egg’s bedchamber, Dunk had passed the portrait of a black-haired beauty in a rich gown but his letters were not instilled in him deeply enough to read the inscription so quickly. The boy’s mother, perhaps?

The awkwardness he felt in the presence of these little ladies went away as soon as he heard them talk: for all their elegant tones, they were as curious as the girl children he had known in the slums. Aegon was right in the midst of a tale of their adventures when his father appeared, with a woman that captured Dunk’s curiosity as soon as she entered.

He had seen her in King’s Landing, of course, but it had always been from distance. The only woman who had managed to keep Maekar at her side after his Dornish lady wife’s death was rumoured to be very beautiful and dangerous but Dunk saw none of this. _Tanselle was much prettier_ , he thought and wondered if it was the Dornish in Maekar that made him flaunt a mistress so openly, living with her not only in his private chambers but his great hall as well.

Rumours had already told Dunk and Aegon that Prince Rhaegel had come with an offer from the King. What this offer was, no one could say for sure but what all were unanimous about was that it included that Lady Saryl Lothston be sent away. Clearly, this was not about to be followed.

As Maekar and Saryl approached, Dunk wondered if he would see anger on the Prince’s face. After all, a hedge knight had no place at the table of a man as self-conceited as Maekar, his son’s master-knight or not. But Maekar did not seem to mind and anyway, they had just taken their seats when Prince Rhaegel entered.

 _He doesn’t look mad_ , Dunk thought. But Rhaegel did look kind. And frail. Once or twice, Dunk heard him cough and wondered if the wet travel had not made him sick. But his mind seemed focused and he listened to Aegon’s tales as eagerly as Daeron and the girls.

Still, it was not him or his siblings whose attention Egg craved. It was evident in the way he kept looking at his father covertly, waiting for interest, approval or whatever one expected of their father. And Maekar gave them – sometimes. Too often, Dunk could see that his attention was entirely focused on Rhaegel and then he felt his old dislike surge to the surface powerfully. He had no experience with fathers but surely one such could give his favourite son his full attention for one night? Just one night?

 


	2. Chapter 2

How could all the hallways in a castle be this different and yet so much alike when one walked them, Dunk could not say. He only knew that with every step he made, he got entangled more and more hopelessly in this castle that had looked so clearly outlaid for him when he had been going through with the boy. He should have accepted Egg’s offer to have him accompany him in his walk outside meant to air his head from the stifling hotness of the great hall. A few more steps into the courtyard had led him into another courtyard and a garden, and a door that was not the one he had left the main building through.  He strained to hear the sounds of the great hall but the silence made him wonder if he had gone too far from it, or had the feast simply ended. The boy could arrange a search for him any moment now. Dunk felt hot, even in his ears. This would be so humiliating!

A wave of footfalls and low voices made him look at the other end of the corridor but alas, it was not the great hall. People were going back to their chambers; looking through the opened door of a chamber next to him, Dunk realized that he had found himself in the living quarters, perhaps even Maekar’s own dwelling. It was certainly rich enough.

A moment later, the Prince himself appeared from behind a curtain in the inner chamber with the woman. It was obvious that she had wept and her press on Maekar’s fingers was such that Dunk thought she’d sure break them.

“I can’t believe he was so foolish,” the Prince was saying. “I knew he serves Rhaegel now but to come back here and watch you with me? Why would he do this to himself?”

“To make me feel uncomfortable,” Lady Saryl said bitterly. “I think he believes I didn’t accept his proposal because I was already warming your bed.”

“That’s what most people think anyway,” Maekar reminded her. “It never used to bother you this much.”

 _Or you wanted it to be so_ , Dunk thought.

“Why is it different now?” The Prince’s voice was sharper, albeit low. Dunk had noticed it about the boy as well: Egg rarely raised his voice, no matter how angry, as if he still lived in a castle full of eavesdropping servants. “I am not holding you on a leash, you know. And the problem that used to stand between the two of you is no longer there. If you want to go to him, you can.”

Dunk gasped at the casual dismissal and Lady Saryl’s quiet but undoubtedly enraged voice told him that she was not averse to letting her lover know what she thought about this. Dunk only got to slip away unnoticed when Maekar embraced the lady and they were too engrossed in each other to look at the door and notice his passing through the hall.

It was obvious that tonight, Egg would not get the lion share of his father’s attention and it was unfair, no matter how upset Lady Saryl was. But when, just an hour later, he saw Maekar emerging from the castle, he realized that the woman had been abandoned as well. Did Maekar care for no one?

* * *

 Over thirty years of life had taught Maekar to banish everything from his mind and turn to the problem at hand – when it was this particular hand that he had been dealt. The sight of Saryl’s despairing face refused to leave his eyes, though, along with Aegon’s eagerness, and it was with no small amount of loathing that he saw his brother – but this was not unfamiliar as well.

The outpour had stopped but it was still cold enough to make Maekar pull his cloak tighter around himself. But Rhaegel was not cold and Maekar knew it as soon as he spotted the doublet thrown carelessly over a low bare bush. Clearly, a cloak had been nowhere in Rhaegel’s considerations when he had left his chamber to pace endlessly.

“I figured that after this long journey, you’d enjoy the warmth of your chamber,” Maekar said casually, although he was feeling anything but.

Rhaegel turned and the brightness of his eyes made it clear that he was well past the point where he could have been convinced. “I don’t want to enjoy any warmth,” he said, annoyed. “When I’m warm and comfortable, I go to sleep and they’re much worse in my sleep. The more comfortable I am, the more comfortable they make themselves and I don’t want this.”

They. The invisible ones. Maekar’s onetime fear of the voices and creatures in his brother’s head had faded long ago, only to be replaced by the chilling realization that for certain periods of time, they were more real to Rhaegel than he, Maekar, was.

“Who are they?” he asked, his voice as light as usual, although he wondered what they were going to do if Rhaegel felt that clothes were strangling him. It was so cold that he would catch a chill in mere minutes – and it would certainly not last mere minutes. In such moments, Maekar had never dared subjugate him by force because he did not know if it would not crush Rhaegel’s mind forever and keep the invisible ones with him permanently. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“Men of the old and dragons. Man-dragons.  They’ve come back again to haunt me. They always come back. I tell them to leave but they never listen. And they’re so terrible to look at.”

He was not talking to them yet. Perhaps the crisis could be avoided. “Where are they?”

“Everywhere! They light the night with their fire breath and grin some terrible grins.” Rhaegel paused. “You can’t see them, can you?”

“I can see the night. There is nothing else to see, Rhaegel. There is nothing there. It’s not real, I swear.”

“How do you know?” Rhaegel demanded.

How did he know indeed? This was the moment Maekar hated most, this prolonged pause to try and reckon which one of them was the mad one. Rhaegel sounded so rational. In a way, it was harder than the occasions when his eyes rolled uncontrollably and saliva dripped from his mouth.

“I know. Whatever they’re doing, whatever they’re telling you, it isn’t real. The night is dark and cold. Put this cloak on.”

Rhaegel looked at him as if he was the mad one. “Take your cloak when you’re cold and I’m not?” he asked rationally and then returned to the subject at hand. “It’s real. More real than you. They’re there and they’re ripping the world apart and yelling at me.”

“The world is intact, as grim as ever,” Maekar said darkly. “You can trust me on this. Your man-dragons can’t do much to make it a worse place. Let’s go to your chamber, and you’ll see they won’t follow. In light and warmth, they disappear.”

Rhaegel shook his head and blocked Maekar’s attempt to take him by the hand.

“They don’t,” he breathed. “They don’t, that’s the whole point. They come when you’re tired, when you have no strength to fight them off.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky then that I have the strength?” Maekar asked dryly. “I’ll come with you and fight them off.  Come with me and leave them here,”  he added, knowing that it was impossible. In the cold night, sweat was pouring off his brother’s pale face. It would not end any time soon.

Suddenly, Rhaegel nodded. “They won’t stay here,” he claimed. “But they go silent for a while when one of you is there. I like this. They’re saying terrible things to me. Alys gets scared when they do.”

“Don’t listen to them. It’s your weariness talking. Come on now,” Maekar said again and tugged him by the hand, scared that he’d have to hear what the invisible ones kept saying. Right now, he could not put up with this as well. His rational mind rejected the madness that was being displayed in front of him; all he wanted was to go back to his bedchamber and stroke Saryl’s hair, or listen to Aegon’s enthusiastic accounts of his exploits. _Blessed be the Seven, at least he escaped_ , he thought, remembering how fervently he had wanted to escape when he had been his son’s age – escape a life where a fourth son was not needed, an existence where he stopped existing as soon as Rhaegel’s madness manifested itself the way it did now. The realization that the past kept repeating, that he was doing to his son what he had hated being done to him made him clench his teeth in silent ire – but what else could he do?

Rhaegel was staring at him with eyes that were suddenly lucid, almost as if he understood. Sometimes, he was the only one who could.

“I’m sorry,” he said very simply. “I never wanted to take your part in addition to mine.”

“You didn’t, “ Maekar sighed. “Come on, let’s leave these man-dragons here and start anew tomorrow.”

“I’ll try,” Rhaegel promised.

 _Tomorrow_ , Maekar thought. _No matter what, I will find time for them tomorrow._

After all, it was all part of the past, was it not? The past that kept repeating.

                                                                                                                                                                     

 


End file.
